Читать книгу Perfect Partners? - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 11

NATHAN CAME BY LINDSAY’S office after seeing Celia out. She’d already started working on another case.

“You look busy.”

“Try swamped.” She put a hand on a stack of case files that were all of pressing importance.

“Want to pass some of those on to me?”

Lindsay selected a couple files that required a lot of research—his specialty—freeing her up for the fieldwork she loved. She handed them to him.

“See? Doesn’t that feel better already?”

She had to admit that it did.

And then he was gone, before she had a chance to talk to him about the Burchard case, or question him about Celia.

The day was busy and she didn’t see Nathan again. Fieldwork kept her occupied until after eight in the evening, and by the time she made it to the Stool Pigeon for dinner and a few wind-down drinks, she was exhausted.

Still, she didn’t expect to sleep well that night. Celia Burchard’s story was far different from her own, but the woman’s distress had sparked memories, nonetheless.

At home, Lindsay watched reruns on TV, finally falling asleep around two in the morning. A few hours later she awoke suddenly with sadness pressing like a sandbag on her chest.

The light from the hallway provided enough illumination for her to make her way to the bathroom. Not bothering to switch on the wall sconces by the mirror, she splashed cool water over her face.

The dream was always the same. She was a child again, eight years old in a sun-filled playroom. Then she heard a woman scream. A man yell.

The scene shifts and suddenly she was standing in a different room, darker, streaks of red everywhere. At first glance it seems like paint.

Her father is in this room, too, about ten feet away. He’s staring right at her, and she can’t look at anything but him. Slowly understanding seeps through her. Something terrible has happened. The red stuff isn’t paint.

Then she hears another scream and she wakes up.

The dream ends there, always ends there.

Once it had been a nightly occurrence. Now a month sometimes could pass without an episode, until, eventually, the dream found her again. Usually there was a trigger. Lindsay had no doubt what it was this time.

The new case, Celia Burchard’s parents, there were just too many parallels.

Wearily, she sank to the cotton mat by the tub. Waves of hot air pulsed from the nearby heat register and she waited for the warmth to sink in. Over the years she’d learned not to fight the sadness that came to her in her dreams but rather to go with it. Only once she’d touched bottom was it possible to drift upward again.

With her head in her hands, she let the sorrow soak through every fiber of her being. Once she’d felt the depths of it, the utter loss and emptiness, she summoned a different memory, a happy one.

She was six, recently enrolled in school, and she’d entered the kitchen, unexpectedly, only to find her parents were standing by the sink, kissing. They pulled apart with an embarrassed laugh when they saw her. Her mother offered her a cookie.

Long ago Lindsay had concluded that her memories of her childhood were unreliable, as a whole. But this one she knew was true and she clung to it.

Her parents had been happy, once.

Her father had loved her mother. Once.

Lindsay reached for a towel to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on her face. Through the fabric she felt the cheekbones she’d inherited from her mother. The strong nose and firm jaw of her dad.

As Nathan had said, life went on. In one form or another.

Slowly she got back onto her feet, then went to her closet and changed into jeans and a sweater. No sense trying to sleep again, at least not until she’d sufficiently distracted herself. Work was always good for that.

On her way out of the room, she touched a finger to the photo of her mother that she kept on her bureau. Her Mom’s smile calmed her, reminding her that not everything from her past had been terrible.

She grabbed her handbag from the rack by the front door, locked up, then headed down the stairs to the street. Though her neighborhood was primarily residential, it was never completely quiet, not even in the dead of night. The noise of the traffic was reassuring as she made her way down the block. A young couple, arms linked, passed by on the opposite side of the street. They were talking passionately about something, oblivious to her existence a mere twenty feet away.

She felt a touch of envy for their closeness and also curiosity. What could matter so much at two o’clock on a Thursday morning? She stopped to fish her keys from her purse, then made her way through the main door, up the stairs, to the office. She flicked on a few select lights, just enough so she wouldn’t bang her shin on any of the furniture.

As she passed by Nadine’s desk she noticed an African violet next to the phone. That was new. Touching one of the leaves confirmed her guess—it wasn’t silk.

Nadine meant well, but real plants needed watering and fertilizer and constant attention. Sooner, rather than later, they all died—at least every plant she’d ever owned did.

Tomorrow she’d talk to Nadine and remind her of the company policy toward green stuff.

In her office Lindsay switched on the desk lamp. Light pooled on the last file she’d been working on. Paperwork wasn’t a fun part of the job—that was one of the reasons she’d hired Nadine. But no receptionist was ever going to be able to take over the job of writing her reports for her.

That afternoon she’d shot some video footage for a Workers’ Compensation case and now she sat down to compose the report. She turned on her computer, and while she waited for the programs to load, she reviewed the footage on her camcorder.

As she watched, she shook her head ruefully. The claimant had made this case painfully easy, as he’d actually had the audacity to drive to his local gym for a workout, clearly not hampered by the injury he claimed made it impossible for him to drive a truck.

Setting aside the camera, she started typing.

“The following investigation was conducted by Lindsay Fox, of Fox Investigations, on October 17, 2009, in New York City.

“On this date I observed Lyle P. Cuthbert leave his house at quarter to nine, driving his 2005 Ford Taurus. I followed Mr. Cuthbert to—”

A noise from the reception area stopped Lindsay cold. She froze as she heard the distinctive scrape of a lock turning in a dead bolt. Good God, someone was breaking in.

There wasn’t enough time to call for help. She fumbled with her key ring, then unlocked the bottom drawer where she kept her gun. The weight of the Glock in her hand was reassuring as she quietly crept away from her desk, to stand in the dark shadows behind the door.

“Lindsay?”

“Bloody hell.” It was Nathan. She let her arms fall to her sides as the adrenaline filtered out of her body.

A moment later he appeared in the doorway. His gaze went immediately to the gun. “I scared you. Sorry about that.”

He was wearing black jeans and a long sleeved gray T-shirt. Combined with the day’s growth on his cheeks and chin and his inscrutable eyes, he could have been auditioning for a role as a cat burglar.

“What the hell are you doing here at this hour? And how did you get in?”

“Nadine gave me a key. I work here now. Remember?”

“One month,” she reminded him. “Then we reassess.”

His gaze held hers. “It’s going to work out.”

“How can you be so confident?”

“I just am.” His gaze dropped to her gun again. “Are you going to put that away? You’re making me nervous.”

She went to her desk and locked the gun back in the bottom drawer. Standing up, she brushed aside some hair that had fallen over her eye. She noticed Nathan watching her, his expression intent.

“You still haven’t told me why you came to the office so late,” she said.

“I was up with my sick nephew for a few hours, so my sister could get some rest. By the time Justin finally settled down, I wasn’t tired anymore.”

She remembered that he had a sister, but she’d thought she was married. “Does your sister live with you now?”

“Yeah. It’s a temporary thing. She split up with her husband a few months ago. By the way, I’ve set up a meeting tomorrow with Audrey Burchard. That’s why I’m here—to collect my notes and prepare some questions. I’m assuming you want to come to the interview?”

She was very interested in meeting Celia’s mother and judging for herself whether the woman really was telling the truth about what she remembered. “What time?”

“Celia arranged for us to drop in at the town house on Park Avenue at ten in the morning.”

“I’ll have to do some juggling with my schedule. Want to take a cab from here?”

“That’ll work.”

Lindsay glanced at her watch. It was almost three. One good thing about this late night encounter with Nathan—it had put all thoughts of her nightmare out of her mind. “I think I’ll head home and get a few hours’ sleep.”

He nodded. “I just need to grab that file. I made a copy for you, too.”

“Great. I’ll read it at home.” Lindsay closed up her office, then met Nathan at the front door. He had two manila folders in his hand and he passed her one.

“Thanks.” She was glad to see that he was still as methodical and conscientious as ever. They exited the office and she locked up behind them. Nathan followed her down the corridor and the stairs, until they were back on the street.

Nathan kept walking with her as she headed toward her apartment, even though the subway entrance was in the opposite direction.

“So what were you doing at the office so late?” he asked.

“I often work at night. I like the quiet.”

“Still a night owl, huh?”

Suddenly she was reminded of one night when they’d been working late together. They’d been in an unmarked car, waiting outside an apartment building for the suspect they were tailing to make his move.

They’d been listening to the radio and talking. The music was soft and romantic and a mood had settled over her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She’d felt safe and warm and extremely aware of the attractive man beside her.

Until that moment, Nathan had never made an inappropriate comment or move, never given any indication that he might find her attractive, too.

But that night she’d thought she saw an admiring light in his eyes. When she held his gaze, he’d shifted subtly in her direction. She must have moved toward him, too, because the next thing she knew they were kissing.

There’d been an immediate spark between them, and soon the spark was a roaring blaze. They’d necked like teenagers, making love with their clothes on, and they might have gone even further, if Nathan hadn’t noticed the suspect leaving the apartment building. With their guy on the move, the moment between them was terminated with surgical precision.

Later, they’d both acted as if it had never happened.

And, three weeks after that, Lindsay had handed in her resignation.

“Is this your building?” Nathan asked when she stopped walking.

“Yes. See you tomorrow.” She turned to leave, but Nathan stopped her with a touch on her arm.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep now?”

The concern in his voice, brought a slight ache to her stomach. More like a yearning than a pain. “Whether I sleep, or not, isn’t really your concern.”

“Wow. Still, the same prickly Lindsay.”

She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. “I’m just used to being independent, that’s all.”

“You really believe that?” Nathan gave her a long, considering look, then shook his head. “When we worked together on the police force, I could understand why you kept your distance. I figured you were worried that friendship would lead to something more.”

“Just because we kissed that one time—”

“Hey. It was more than a kiss.” When she wouldn’t look at him, he added, “Even if you won’t admit it.”

“That kiss was a mistake. I thought you agreed with me about that.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You never mentioned anything…”

“I wanted to. You were the one who froze me out. Next thing I knew, you’d handed in your resignation. I felt guilty about that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have. My resignation had nothing to do with you.”

Nathan was silent for a minute. Then he nodded. “Good.”

“I started my agency because I wanted to do work that was meaningful to me. But now you’ve got me questioning your motives for being here.”

“Hey, don’t flatter yourself. You’re not exactly irresistible. And for the record, I take my work just as seriously as you do.”

“Yes.” She’d gone too far suggesting that he might have had ulterior motives for seeking her out. She ought to know better than to make too much out of one necking session.

Still, she couldn’t silence the nagging feeling that this partnership—which seemed so perfect in so many ways—might turn out to be her biggest mistake.

MORNING CAME TOO EARLY. It always did for Lindsay. There were few sounds she hated more than the buzzing of her alarm clock, though Nathan Fisher’s voice might become one of them.

She lifted her head from the pillow, then sank back as a familiar pain made her wince. She’d mixed herself another drink last night before going to bed. The extra alcohol had helped her sleep, but now she was paying the price.

She groped for the pain relievers she kept at the side of her bed, swallowed two, then hit the snooze button. Thirty minutes later, she was running late, but at least her head was back to a normal size.

As she dressed, she mentally reviewed her plans for the day. First up was the meeting with Audrey Burchard, but she needed to reschedule some appointments first.

The air was smoggy and humid, and Lindsay inhaled the familiar scent with resignation as she hurried out her front door. Bad air was the price you paid to live in this city, but frankly, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She passed at least twenty people during the short walk to her office and not one of them tried to make eye contact with her.

How great was that?

Nadine handed her a cup of fresh coffee as soon as she stepped into the office. Lindsay accepted thankfully, knocking back several sips despite the hot temperature. Nathan was in the reception room, too, waiting in the sitting area reserved for clients, reading the New York Daily News.

“Ready to go?” he asked her.

Lindsay remembered his annoying ability to always, always, always be on time. “I’m well aware of our meeting with Audrey Burchard, thanks, Nathan. Just give me a minute.”

She passed a list of names and numbers to Nadine. “Would you reschedule these appointments for me, please?”

“You bet.”

Lindsay’s gaze snagged on the African violet. “When I get back, we need to talk.”

“Oh.” Nadine looked sheepish and slightly worried. Perhaps she’d hoped Lindsay wouldn’t even notice the plant. Not that it was a big deal. Still, she had a feeling that if she didn’t put a stop to it now, Nadine would fill the place with big, green, growing things that needed daily care and attention.

SITTING IN THE BACKSEAT of the cab with Nathan, Lindsay was reminded of the hours they’d spent together in their patrol car. It didn’t feel as if two years had gone by since they’d last worked together. It felt like yesterday.

“Tell me about the shooting,” she said. She was having trouble dealing with her anger on this. There were lots of cops she’d worked with who cut corners. Most, in fact.

But she’d been Nathan’s partner for a year and she’d never seen him take the easy way once.

“I’d rather not.”

So it was still a sore point with him. She glanced out the window as the taxi rounded the corner, then headed toward the Museum of Natural History. When the light changed, the driver sped past the museum into Central Park. They would cut through the park and emerge on the East Side in plenty of time for their ten-o’clock meeting.

“Does Celia still live with her parents?”

“You mean, her mother—her dad moved out after the shooting. Yeah, she does, but if you’re worried about her interfering with our interview, don’t. I already suggested it was a good idea if she wasn’t home when we arrive.”

She gave a short nod of approval, then gave him a closer look. “So what’s up with the two of you? Are you dating?”

Nathan looked annoyed. “We used to date. Not any longer.”

Lindsay was hit with emotions she didn’t like or understand. Mild jealousy that he and Celia had once been a couple. Relief that they no longer were.

Good Lord, what was the matter with her?

“You’re not worried about your ability to be objective?”

“Hell, Lindsay, why the inquest? If I didn’t think I could be impartial, I wouldn’t have accepted the case.”

“That’s good enough for me,” she said. After what he’d gone through the past few months, the last thing he needed was someone questioning his integrity. Quickly, she changed the subject. “I read the file on Mrs. Burchard last night. Thanks for pulling together all that information.”

“I’m glad it helped.”

“I knew Maurice Burchard was a big-time property developer, but it’s interesting that Audrey also has money of her own.”

“Probably more than her husband, since the economic downturn. Her father is a very successful art dealer. He owns several galleries that are operated by various family members, including Audrey and Celia. I believe they both have an ownership stake, as well.”

“So whatever the divorce might have meant to Audrey, it wouldn’t have threatened her financially.”

“Not at all. In fact, from a monetary perspective, the divorce would be far more challenging for Maurice. I checked the property tax records today and both the town house and the Catskills lodge are in Audrey’s name.”

“Is she dependent on him in other ways?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen. She’s an elegant and polite lady, but underneath the veneer, I would say she is extremely strong and determined.”

Good for Audrey Burchard. But not necessarily good for her case. “In situations like this I always wonder about possible abuse, either mental or physical. You had the advantage of knowing them on a personal level. Did their relationship appear healthy?”

“Who can really tell from the outside? Healthy enough. The few occasions I saw them they seemed happy.”

“It wasn’t a facade?”

“Why don’t you judge for yourself?”

The taxi was already gliding up to the Burchard residence on Park Avenue. Before Nathan could pull out his wallet, Lindsay covered the fare, then stepped carefully to the street, avoiding a pile of dried leaves in the gutter. Past the sidewalk, wide stone stairs led to an impressive set of chestnut doors.

Audrey met them there—a platinum-haired woman with a dynamite smile, dressed in an elegant suit of ivory silk, accented with bold silver jewelry.

“Nathan! It’s so nice to see you again. Please come in. And this is your partner?”

Nathan made the appropriate introductions, then fielded questions from Audrey about his sister and nephew.

He and Audrey obviously had a warm, intimate relationship and she wondered anew about Nathan and Celia’s history. If he said the relationship was over, she believed him. But how serious had it been in the first place?

Audrey Burchard led them through an ostentatious foyer to a library with a collection of nineteenth-century oil paintings and glass-fronted cases of leather-bound books.

Though this was one of the most expensive homes she’d ever been inside, Lindsay wasn’t impressed until she tasted the coffee which was served by a woman in her fifties, who entered and exited the room with the discretion of a soft summer breeze.

“This is seriously good coffee.”

“Thank you. It’s my husband’s favorite Ethiopian blend. It’s ridiculously expensive.”

But they hadn’t come here to discuss coffee. Lindsay sat back in the sofa, and tried not to be distracted by either the fabulous wealth around her, or her silly, nagging resentment of Nathan’s relationship with this woman’s daughter.

Perhaps it was because she’d become used to working on her own, but Nathan’s presence seemed to change everything for her. Focusing on work had never been a problem before. Now, the sound of his voice, his physical appearance, even the scent of his shampoo, were all intensely distracting.

It was damned annoying.

Lindsay trained her eyes on the woman they’d come to interview. In person Audrey Burchard exuded energy and power. Her demeanor was not just of confidence, but of one used to taking control of situations and managing outcomes. Her silver hair was very short, showcasing pretty ears and diamond studs as big as the nail on Lindsay’s pinkie. Her green eyes were clear and sharply focused.